The Problem with Rock Salt
by ugahill
Summary: Dean and Sam visit one of the most intimidating places Dean can imagine, to solve one of the biggest problems they face on the road.


The Problem with Rock Salt

Dean Winchester walked down the semi-lit hallway of the warehouse, feeling on edge and vaguely exposed.

They'd done this a hundred times, in a hundred different places, but never in an atmosphere so open—so _uncomfortable._

"I don't know about this, Sam," he whispered, for what felt like the tenth time. "This isn't right."

"Come on, man," his brother chided back, looking over his shoulder. "You've done this a million times before."

"Yeah…but not like this. You know how Dad felt about places like this."

"Dad never _had_ places like this."

"Well no," Dean shook his head, eyes wide. "Not exactly like this. But it's the same thing—you know how he felt about doing this kind of thing in the open."

"Look…if Dad had known that something like this existed, you know he would have been here in a heartbeat. Think of everything that we can save by using it, instead of going about things the usual way."

"Yeah, well," Dean gave a cursory glance around, skirting closer to Sam as an older woman passed by, giving him a look. He grinned shakily at her, nodding his head, then turned back to his brother with a glare. "This is so not a good idea!"

"Dude, you need to chill." Sam straightened a little, glancing down the long hall, then jogged over towards a large batch of shelves covered in bags and boxes. "Perfect. Here it is."

Dean moved up next to him, surveying the bags. "We can't carry that. Come on. Someone's going to spot us."

Sam glanced around, noting the half empty aisle, and made a face. "I'll be right back. Stay here."

Dean pursed his lips, shifting his weight back and forth, waiting. A few strangers walked by; he gave them wan smiles. They stared at him for a moment and he watched them go.

_I'm gonna kill him. I can't believe I let him convince me to do this._

Sam returned a few moments later, a flatbed cart in tow.

"What are you doing?! What is that?"

"We need something to carry it, and you're right, we can't carry it ourselves."

"But a _flatbed_? You don't think everyone else is going to notice?"

"There's no point to risking this unless we get enough to last a while," Sam replied, hauling one of the large bags at the bottom of the shelf onto the cart. "And no, since it's what _everyone else _is using. Now if you'd help me, and stop acting like you're about to jump someone, we could finish this quickly."

Dean made a face, then shrugged helplessly and pulled his hands from his pockets, grabbing one of the larger bags. They piled six onto the cart, which Sam then pulled around behind him. They left the shelter of the dark aisle and started off towards the front of the warehouse, Dean shoving his hands back in his pockets and trying to keep his face to the side.

"Hey," Sam gestured towards a corner at the far back, where an old metal sign waved aimlessly. "You see that? They've got…"

"NO," Dean snarled. "We've got enough already. We don't need any more."

"But…"

"NO SAM."

"We're almost out," Sam replied stonily. "We need more." He spun the bed around. Dean watched him go, flexing his fingers and glancing warily at the people who passed by him.

_I'm REALLY going to kill him._

Sam returned a few minutes later, narrowing his eyes as he drew closer to Dean. "People are going to think something's up if you keep staring like that."

"People…what? Dude, we're already in enough trouble as it is. This is stupid. I can't believe I let you convince me to come in here."

His brother sighed. "Everything will be _fine. _Chill. We're almost done." He nodded at one of the security guards patrolling the large aisles, who nodded back, and looked down at Dean with a grin. "Nothing to worry about."

Dean shoved his hands in his pockets and stormed towards the front, head down.

The end of the warehouse was much brighter, with people milling around in a crowd. Sam pushed the flatbed forward, towards a round-faced young woman in a red smock. She leaned over, surveying the cart, and tapped a few numbers on her cash register.

"That's six bags of rock salt, and a twelve pack of lighter fluid?"

"That's right."

"Do you have a Happy Wholesaler's card?"

"Actually, I do," Sam said cheerily, fishing around in his wallet for a moment. He held up the stamped ID for her to scan, which she beeped it in, then scanned in the bags.

Dean stared from his brother to the pink and purple card he held in his hand. _He really is the world's biggest dork._

"That is a lot of rock salt. Are you two landscapers?"

Sam nodded, flashing his dimples a little more. "Yes. Takes a lot to tend to some of the yards around here."

"I know it. I do a little landscaping myself. What's the lighter fluid for?"

Sam's smile faded a bit. "It's…"

"Slash-and-burn," Dean replied stiffly. "There's some clearing we need to do for a neighborhood we're working."

"Of course," she said, her grin locked in place. "There you go. Total is 156.22."

Sam handed her a couple of bills, and she gave him back the change, waving at him as he wheeled the flatbed through the exit chute. They pushed the cart out of the warehouse, past the bulletin board dotted with WANTED posters. Dean grimaced for a minute at the grainy image of himself that waved back and forth in the breeze, and lowered his head.

"You have a Happy Wholesaler's card?" he asked snidely, as they reached the bright sunshine of the parking lot.

Sam's pleasant grin faded. "We had a lot of them in California. They really do save you money."

"Honestly, you ARE the biggest girl I've ever met. Did you make sure to bring the coupon book, too?"

"Shut up. You know we probably saved about fifty dollars in that place? You can't find this stuff cheap in those little landscaping stores. And it always comes in those little 'personal use' tins. What good does that do us? We go through one every hunt."

"Oh yeah, of course. Who'd want to go in those hole-in-the-wall shops that don't even have working security cameras? Takes the fun out of everything," Dean muttered, eyeing to the cameras mounted across the parking lot. "We gotta get our thrills somewhere. Why not risk our necks to save a couple bucks at the Happy Wholesalers? You know, roll the dice?"

Sam shook his head. "You'll be happier about when you've got those few extra bucks to spend."

"I'll be happier about it when we get the hell out of this parking lot and back on the road."

"Look, no one ever said this job was going to be easy. You really want to face another one of those spirits without extra salt again? The problem with rock salt is it runs out way too quickly. This way," he patted the large bags, "we don't have to worry about it for a while."

"Yeah, sure, fine, whatever." Dean fished in his pockets, producing the keys to the Impala, and unlatched the trunk. "Let's just get load it and get out of this place. I'm getting serious Beaver Cleaver vibes and it's creeping me out."

He popped the trunk, staring down for a moment, and sighed. "Uh, Sam?"

_God, we're freakin' idiots._

"What?"

Dean turned to his brother, wearing a wan expression, and gestured at the packed trunk. "I think we have another problem with the rock salt."

END


End file.
